


White Ladder

by Rehfan



Series: White Ladder [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Blood, Blow Jobs, Crime Scenes, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Frottage, Heterosexual Sex, Homosexuality, Hurt/Comfort, Lube, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild intolerance, Self-Denial, mild prejudice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John decides to fight for his relationship with Mary. Unfortunately, he's on the losing side.</p><p>The arc of a relationship. Two people who are meant to be with one another will always find one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Ladder

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Sherlock Johnlock fanfic that is based on the music of David Gray's album, White Ladder. Each chapter is named after each track in sequence and is headed with a quote from that particular song.
> 
> The album was released in 1999, but it's one of my favorite albums and it is available for download on iTunes. Please download it. You won't regret it.
> 
> Part Seven is the title track of the album and can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1yceSY_8PY

“There’s no rhyme or reason to love,  
Oh sweet, sweet love.”

 

John lay awake in bed and waited for the sleep meds he took to kick in. Mary was already asleep by his side and he envied her ability to just drift off. John hoped that the meds would give him a dreamless sleep. He’s had enough of the nightmares.

Idly he rubbed his leg. He could have it at rest for hours and it would still throb. It let up a little occasionally… when? The last time he legged it with Sherlock down that alley two nights ago. Funny how it just vanished when the adrenaline started pumping. He slept well that night too.

There was something terribly wrong here. His leg hadn’t been so bad off before that he had to be on pain meds. And he had never been so bad off as to require sleep meds either. The truth was staring him in the face. John held back tears as he made the silent acknowledgement: He missed Sherlock. He missed him and he loved him. Desperately.

His breathing became stuttered with silent weeping and he turned to see that he wasn’t waking Mary. Oh… poor Mary. She did love him. And if John was honest, he loved her, but not with the true, complete love he had for Sherlock. He wanted to take care of Mary, but she really didn’t need his looking after. He wanted to protect Mary, but from what? There was no stress with her. There were no agitating arguments. It was all peace and quiet with her and, in a way, it was lovely. But in another, more disconcerting way, it was hatefully… boring.

He liked the challenge of dealing with a personality like Sherlock. He was a surprise a minute and someone who needed John in his life. Sure, it was tedious keeping up with the mad genius: he was exasperating, cantankerous, oblivious to others around him, etc. But it was completely worth it when they could lie on the sofa and John could card a hand through those dark curls as Sherlock rested (finally!) in his lap.

But here he lay with Mary. Sweet, wonderful Mary. What was he to do?

Thinking back, John realized that things hadn’t been great between them lately, especially in the last few months. Sex had become mechanical – when they had sex at all. John got in really late some nights and was so thoroughly exhausted he often woke the next morning to find that he had fallen asleep in one of the sitting room chairs. Sometimes he’d wake up and there would be a blanket spread over him. He would go to the bedroom and cuddle with Mary on those mornings.

And on those rare occasions when sex was on the menu, Mary and John had fallen into a bit of a rut. It was pretty routine: foreplay, intercourse, orgasm, sleep. And then there was the night where Mary wanted anal sex. And John had turned her down. That was the biggest red flag of all and it did give Mary pause, but she ultimately decided that she could live without it for that night. It hit John in a completely different way.

John didn’t want anal sex with Mary because of what almost happened the first (and last) time they did it. He didn’t want to imagine Sherlock while screwing his girlfriend. And he especially didn’t want to risk fucking her and calling out Sherlock’s name in the throes of passion. Bad enough that Mary thought he spent way too much time with Sherlock as it was. She didn’t need to even suspect that he was John’s ex-lover as well; especially since Mary was completely unaware that John had ever slept with any man before, never mind Sherlock.

John was pretty certain that if Mary were to ever become aware that he had slept with a man before, that she would reject him completely. She might even become physically sick at the thought. As a rule, she had no problem with people being gay or bisexual, just so long as they weren’t sleeping with her. So there would be no opportunity for a full confession. Mary would freak out completely. John could never tell her about Sherlock, so why tempt fate? No more anal sex for both of them ever again.

John turned over away from Mary. She was very special to him but he could feel himself slipping farther and farther away from her. The two of them were hanging by a thread. He knew it.

John also felt awful that he wasn’t with her as much as she would like. It wasn’t fair to her. He had to try to do something. He didn’t fight for his relationship with Sherlock when Sherlock broke it off. John was going to be damned if he would let his relationship with Mary just fizzle out. There had to be a way.

He wished he could include her in his life more. It might bring them closer. Perhaps the next time Sherlock called…

John had a mad idea. Why not? Yes… that’s what he’d do. But would Mary object? All he could do was ask.

 

~080~

 

An address appeared on John’s phone. He went to the kitchen and found Mary unpacking the shopping and loading up the fridge. “Got a text from Sherlock,” he said.

“Alright then,” she said with a long-suffering sigh. “Be safe.” She placed the last of the items in the fridge, walked to him and kissed him on the cheek.

“Come with me,” he said.

“What?” she said. “To a crime scene? Why?”

“Why not?” he said. “You always ask me about it when I come home. Why not accompany me and find out for yourself?”

“And see a bloody murder scene in person? No, thank you!” she said with a shudder.

“No. No… You wouldn’t be privy to the scene itself, but you’d be just beyond the tape. It might be exciting,” he said. She gave him a dubious look.

“Just come. Just this once. If you hate it, we never have to do it again. Promise,” he said.

She could never resist those blue eyes.

 

~080~

 

“What’s she doing here, doctor?” said Lestrade.

“She’s just keeping me company, Greg. She’s to stay behind the tape and wait. She knows the rules,” said John a bit apologetically.

“Alright then,” said Greg giving John an odd look. “Sherlock’s already inside. He’s waiting on you.”

“Cheers, Greg,” said John. He headed off and then stopped. Turning, he said to Greg: “Hey. Go check on her, will you? She may have questions about police procedures and things. Besides, I’d like it if you two met.”

Greg looked at the sweet blonde woman with the anxious face. “Alright, mate. Will do. Just get in there, will you?”

John smiled and hurried off.

Upstairs in the dilapidated old row house a body was sprawled across the floor. Sherlock was bent double over it, sniffing at the corpse’s mouth, his hair almost touching the bloody face. It was all John could do to hold back a sigh of exasperation.

“You’re going to contaminate the crime scene, Sherlock, and then they’ll never let you near another corpse until it reaches the morgue,” John said.

“Well I can’t kneel down as there’s too much blood everywhere,” said Sherlock. Suddenly, he stood. “Where have you been? I texted you over a half-hour ago.”

“Mary came with me,” he said and pretended to be busy examining bloody cast off on the walls.

“She’s here?” said Sherlock and went to the window.

“She wanted to see what I did…” John said. He looked around the room. “Well… more or less. She wants to participate in my life a bit more than she used to. After all, we’re coming up on a year together. It’s only natural that she’ll want to share in the exciting bits of my life.”

“You’ve only been living together for eight months. That’s hardly a year,” said Sherlock as he gazed down at her. “And I see that she’s found her own bit of excitement already.”

“What?” said John, carefully picking his way across the bloody room to the window.

“It seems our dear friend Lestrade is entertaining her,” Sherlock said, a bemused smile coming across his face.

John looked down into the street and there they were. Greg said something and that beautiful laugh that John hadn’t heard in a while came out of Mary. It didn’t take a genius consulting detective to see that they clearly liked each other. Perhaps even fancied each other. 

It suddenly struck John that he wasn’t jealous.

Not even a little bit.

 

~080~

 

“Well, what did you think?” John asked, picking up some udon noodles with his chopsticks.

“Thanks to your friend Greg, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” she offered, spooning some miso soup into her mouth.

“Yes, I saw that you got on with him quite well,” he said. If there was a hint of an injured ego in the statement Mary didn’t pick up on it.

“Well enough,” she said. “He’s nice. He’s got a nice face. A face you can trust. Lovely hair too.”

“Alright,” said John. “That’s enough. Unless of course you want to tell me how dreamy his eyes are.”

“Mmm…” said Mary around a mouthful of soup. “Now that you mention it…”

“Oh shut up,” said John with a grin. Mary was being playful. She hadn’t been that way in months. Somewhere in John’s secret heart, hope blossomed. They laughed.

Mary changed tactics. “But then, I did always go for blonde and blue-eyed,” she said. She gave him a sly grin that he returned.

“Did you now?” he said.

“And do you know what?” she said.

“What?” he said. He was enjoying this. She hadn’t tease-talked him in a good long while.

“My boyfriend’s got both,” she said. She looked at him with lust in her eyes. “And… he’s smoking hot.”

John looked at her for a moment. He raised his hand and looked about the restaurant. “Waiter? Check, please.”

 

~080~

 

The bedroom door burst open with the pressure of their bodies and slammed against the wall as John pressed a bruising kiss to Mary’s mouth.

She took off her shirt and trousers in record time and kissed and sucked at John’s chest as he removed his shirt and jumper in one motion. She sucked on his nipple causing him to hiss in a breath. She usually ignored his nipples. He had forgotten how sensitive they were.

Seeing that he reacted well to this, she moved across to the other one and gave it the lightest flick with the tip of her tongue. John’s breath stuttered. That was so good.

John took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring the cavern of her mouth. She slid her tongue against his in a bid for control, but ultimately she relented to his passion, allowing him to suck and nibble on her lips. He trailed kisses all along her jaw, reaching the hollow just below her ear where he knew she was most sensitive. Mary shivered.

As he kissed her, she ran her hands all over his chest, down to his trouser belt. Removing it and unbuttoning his trousers, she put a hand in to caress his cock. It was already hard. Mary moaned her approval.

He pulled his head back to look at her. She was very beautiful like this. Impassioned, lust-filled, and with her long flowing hair unpinned as it was, she looked like she belonged on the cover of a romance novel. He couldn’t wait to fuck her through the mattress.

He removed his trousers, shoes, and socks. He guided her toward the bed with a hand on her hip. She moved along obediently, kneeling on the mattress in nothing but her bra and knickers. Oh dear God, she was heavenly.

“Get the lube, John,” she said. Her voice was deep and sultry and very hard to ignore. John reached into the bedside table and got it and a condom. He set them aside and climbed on the mattress to face Mary.

“I want you, John,” she whimpered, kissing his neck. She licked down his neck and she sent shivers down his spine when she began to nip along the collarbone. Nothing deep enough to leave a mark, but sharp enough to leave an impression. Heat built up in John’s groin. He felt his cock grow heavier. He needed to explode inside this woman.

His hands ghosted over her arse and the light touch caused her to press into his hand. He snuck a finger under her knickers from behind and felt how wet she had become.

“Oh God, John,” she moaned. “I’ve been wet for you ever since we left the crime scene. I’ve wanted you for so damn long.”

“Jesus,” he said. Her words were like a stroke to his cock. He knew he was leaking. He pressed his erection up to her and rutted against her, grasping her arse with both hands. The friction was delicious and they both groaned their pleasure. But it wasn’t enough.

“I need you to fuck me, John,” she said.

“That is the plan,” he joked. She gave him a sly grin and chuckled.

“I want you to give it to me… up my arse,” she said.

John froze for a moment.

“Please, John,” she said. “I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I loved when you did it to me before. Nice and slow. I really want it, John. Please. For me.”

“Mary, I--,” he stuttered.

“John, I don’t know what you think you did wrong, but I promise that you didn’t hurt me. I want this. I want you. Come on,” she begged. She kissed him and quickly turned around in his arms, pressing her arse to his throbbing prick, grinding against it rhythmically.

John’s will broke at the sensation. Oh dear God yes please yes… He grabbed her hips and powerfully ground his dick into her cleft, much to Mary’s satisfaction.

He pulled down her underwear and spread her cheeks. He rutted his clothed cock against her skin. Oh yes, he was definitely leaking precum. He rocked harder against her. It was a tease that worked well to build a fire in both of them.

“Oh yes, John,” she gasped. “Just like that. Oh please. Use your tongue. I miss that so much.” She bent forward and placed her head on the mattress. Her hair splayed around her and she did look amazing at that angle. Just like…

John hesitated for only a moment. I will not think of Sherlock. I will not think of Sherlock. It’ll be OK. I’m here with Mary. Mary wants me to fuck her. Only Mary.

John reached back for the bottle of lube and set it close by. He bent over Mary and softly kissed her at the base of her spine causing gooseflesh to rise and Mary to moan: “Ohhhh… Yes, John. So soft. So good. Please.”

He placed little licks all around her anus. She squirmed with anticipation and cried out for more. He licked a stripe clean across her opening and waggled his tongue for a moment deep inside her vagina. Mary cried out in surprise at the sensation. Her hips bucked and John’s chin was soaked in her wetness. He let out a grunt of primal satisfaction. He dove back in to rim her arsehole, sucking and licking at the tender skin with abandon. Mary’s brain couldn’t take all the stimuli John was handing out and she almost came from the sensory overload.

From that moment, John was a man possessed. He wanted to be inside her. Aggressively, he stuck his tongue inside her arsehole and Mary grunted at the sensation, backing her hips up to take more of him inside her. He extended his tongue as far as he could and fucked her with it, moving it in and out at a quickened pace. It was almost as if he were working the head of Sherlock’s cock.

No. Stop. Stop. STOP.

John lifted his head up, gasping for air.

“John,” said Mary. She lifted her head up from the mattress to look at him. “What’s wrong? Why did you stop, darling? It was so good. Please don’t stop.” She reached back and placed her hand on one of his that he had rested on her hip.

Recovered a bit, he smiled at her, “I’m alright, love. Just needed a breather.” He kissed her arse cheeks, each one in turn. Mary smiled and moaned at the affectionate touch.

John chided himself. Alright. Fantasize, but don’t – DO NOT – call out Sherlock’s name. Sherlock isn’t here. Mary is. Watch yourself.

He nipped at one arse cheek and she yelped and laughed. He smiled at her and went back to licking and sucking and making her moan in anticipation of his hard, thick cock entering her over and over again.

When he had gotten three fingers inside her, he prepared himself and with one slow, smooth motion, buried himself balls-deep in her arse. John closed his eyes and Sherlock’s face swam before him.

Sherlock was at his microscope wrapped in a bed sheet. Without saying a word to Sherlock, John put on a latex glove and removed the slide which probably contained some form of mold, set it aside carefully, removed the glove, moved the heavy microscope away from in front of the detective, dropped his trousers and his pants to his ankles, stepped out of the clothing and sat, bare-bottomed on the kitchen table, directly in front of him, his half-formed erection dangling away from him and toward Sherlock.

Sherlock had a stunned look on his face for the entirety of this silent event.

“I want you to suck me off, Sherlock,” John had said.

Without saying a word or using his hands, Sherlock bent to John’s dick and took it into his mouth, deep-throating it as far as he could.

John let out a moan and threw his head back at the sensation of all that warm wet surrounding his cock. As Sherlock’s now expert tongue teased his frenulum, he felt himself get harder and harder.

Sherlock gripped John’s thighs just above the knee and bobbed his head in a slightly irregular rhythm, one designed to created that This Is Not Enough feeling. John looked down at the detective helplessly. Crystalline blue eyes met his and somehow with his mouth full of John’s cock, Sherlock managed a sly half-grin.

The memory was enough to make John come and he nearly did. Mary was below him gasping out her passion, calling his name over and over, but all John could see was that beautiful man and those gorgeous curls bobbing up and down between his legs. Oh dear God, Sherlock, how I miss you. So much. So very much. Oh don’t stop.

“Don’t stop,” John had said at the time. “Don’t stop, Sherlock. That’s so good. Yes, suck me off just like that.” Sherlock’s tongue was back at his frenulum, his mouth just working the head. Sherlock’s fingers were sinking deep into John’s thighs, hard enough to bruise perhaps, but John didn’t care. His detective could mark any part of his body that he wanted. John was Sherlock’s. He didn’t care who knew.

“I’m yours,” he moaned at Mary. It was a safe enough statement to make, considering.

“Oh God, John,” she responded. “Take me. Fuck me.”

“Fuck me, John,” said Sherlock in the kitchen of 221B. He had released his hold on John’s cock and was gently stroking his balls and shaft with one of his hands. “I want you inside me.” Sherlock stood up and moved to go to his bedroom for supplies. As he did, John thought he could see his erection under all those bed sheets. Just before the sheets were out of his reach, John stepped on the very end of them. They fell away, revealing the perfection that was Naked Sherlock.

Sherlock looked back over his shoulder at his cheeky flat mate and cocked another sly grin at him. He walked off completely disrobed and as comfortable as you please to retrieve the supplies.

When he made his return, John saw that he was correct: Sherlock’s cock was heavy and dripping. The man looked so fucking gorgeous like that. John couldn’t help himself. He fell to his knees in the kitchen and took Sherlock’s cock in his mouth. He worked his tongue over Sherlock’s slit and Sherlock gasped and leaned heavily against the kitchen table. John stroked his hand up and down the shaft in a steady rhythm as he worked the head. Sherlock let out a deep groaning baritone moan that almost made John come. That voice. Always that voice. Damn.

John reached up and took the lube and condom from Sherlock’s hand. He placed the condom on his throbbing member and coated his hand and cock in lube. Still sucking Sherlock’s cock, he reached up between Sherlock’s thighs and found his opening. Sherlock spread his legs for the good doctor, giving him full access to his arsehole.

Using one of his hands to still Sherlock’s hips, he carefully and slowly inserted one finger inside. Another baritone moan and Sherlock instinctively sank down on John’s hand. Soon enough they had found a rhythm that worked and John sucked Sherlock’s dick and fucked him up the arse simultaneously. There was never a more sexy, beautiful, fuck.

God, Sherlock. I do love you.

They stayed like that until John was three fingers in and his knees began to complain. He pulled off Sherlock’s dick and out of his arse, getting up slowly.

I’m not a teenager anymore.

Sat in the kitchen chair and angled out for Sherlock, John gripped his cock as the detective faced away from him and took it up his arse in an achingly slow single motion. John stroked Sherlock’s back soothingly as he sat still a moment, getting used to the girth of John’s prick inside of him. That alabaster skin was always so perfect and John kissed every vertebra he could reach.

John reached around and fingered Sherlock’s nipples, giving them a small pinch and pull. Sherlock gasped and began to move.

The detective’s long legs made this position ideal. Sherlock could rock back or forward and John could hold Sherlock’s hips steady as he ground up at him. But this day, Sherlock wanted more.

Sherlock got up and turned around, facing John. He straddled the doctor and, guiding John’s prick with his own hand, sat back down onto John. They took another second just to sit there staring at one another before Sherlock leaned down and kissed John. It was a kiss that stopped time: soft, sweet, warm, wet, velvet tongues touched, slid, and parted, only to touch again over and over. Their bodies rose and fell together and the kiss held, matching the rhythm of their bodies with the rhythm of the kiss. John wanted it never to end. This was lovemaking. This was perfection.

Only you, Sherlock. Only you.

“Only you,” John said to Mary.

Mary was reduced to moaning. They had been fucking for so long, she was past all comprehension. “Come for me, John,” she mumbled.

“I’m so close,” John said.

Sherlock got off John’s cock for the second time and lay on the kitchen table, legs spread. John reinserted himself and fucked Sherlock into oblivion, sliding in and out of the gorgeous detective, listening to him call out his name in that arresting voice: ‘Yes, John… oh God… yes…. John… my John… my John…. John John JohnJohnJohn…’

Sherlock pulled at his own erection and the two men gasped their orgasms together, each looking the other in the eye. Sherlock looked so wanton when he came. It was the part of their lovemaking that John always made sure he watched. Sherlock always looked the most beautiful when he was completely debauched: eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with desire, a thin sheen of sweat on all that skin, cum smattered over his abdomen, his cock in the grip of those amazing hands…

With several deep thrusts, John came inside of Mary.

He was proud of himself for not yelling out anyone’s name. 

 

~080~

 

“I’ve got an idea,” John said.

“Hmm?” said Mary looking up from her book toward the telly. John was watching a travel programme and she wasn’t paying any attention.

“I think we should go to Cornwall and hire a boat,” he said.

“What?” she said. She looked at him as though he had three heads and was sprouting a fourth.

“I think we could do it. This programme is about a place where they give you weekend instruction just to be able cover the basics of boating. We could take some food and enjoy the season. It might be fun,” he said.

“Why should we?” she asked.

“Well, truth be told, I can’t bring you to every crime scene. I’m pretty sure the Yarders would think of us as having some sort of a sick kink. But we still have to get our excitement from somewhere. And while I know it is a bit of an expense, we’ve never really had a proper holiday, just the two of us.”

“Are you sure Sherlock could spare you for that amount of time?” she asked dryly.

“Oh, sod Sherlock,” he said. “I want to do this. What do you say?”

She gave him an evaluating look. He was so happy about the idea. She replied: “Oh, alright. But if I drown, I’m going to haunt the fuck out of you.”

 

~080~

 

John was happy for the first time in weeks. They had made arrangements to go sailing the following weekend and he couldn’t wait. He needed this time alone with Mary. And the boat they had hired had a below-decks bedroom. Oh yes, this was going to be a marvelous weekend.

As he waited for sleep to claim him, (off the meds, thankyouverymuch) he looked at Mary’s sleepy face through his half-lidded eyes and smiled. He wanted this to work. In his mind’s eye, he saw Mary and him sailing off into the sunset together. He snuggled deep down into the sheets as sleep overtook him, body and soul.

His twilight dream stage was beginning. There was the water. There was the boat. Sun glistening off the waves, blinding his eyes. A slight rocking motion was deepening the dream, making it more real. There was someone on the deck with him, smiling at him, hair blowing in the wind. ‘When I was a child, I wanted to be a pirate…’

Mary wrapped an arm around John and kissed his cheek. “Goodnight, John,” she murmured.

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” he replied dreamily.


End file.
